


mister sandman, bring me a dream

by darth_stitch



Series: Count Buckula's Guests [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bucky Bear - Freeform, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Humor, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance and Fluff, Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla, Sleepwalking, count buckula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/pseuds/darth_stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve suddenly starts sleepwalking... while being a guest in Count Dracula's castle.  In the Great List of Truly Terrible Ideas, this is surely in the Top Ten, especially since he tends to sleepwalk straight for one Count Buckula's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mister sandman, bring me a dream

**Author's Note:**

> The original draft of this fic was posted at [The Blanket Fort](http://darthstitch.tumblr.com/post/130251245781/sleepwalker)

There are a few ways that a vampire can get their prey. 

Of course, there’s the obvious, which involve a lot of pain and terror and suffering and death.  Often, the hapless victim ends up turning into a vampire themselves and nine times out of ten, they will be the kind of mad, rabid revenant, still stinking of death and grave-earth, that the local villagers will eventually stake through the heart and behead.   And eventually, the original vampire who started this mess gets staked and beheaded too.  A fate well-deserved.

There are other methods, which are far more sensible and saner.  There are always willing donors, if given the right encouragement.  There are also the dream-paths, in which the victim is left with sweet dreams and perhaps a lingering languor that would be easily cured with food and rest, no harm done.

This is being mentioned as an explanation.  Because it really wasn’t Iacov’s fault. 

( _Bunicule, please stop laughing at me!_ )

Iacov knows how it looks - an ancient medieval castle, two noblemen of an ancient family and two guests who could very well fit the mold of the innocent Gothic hero or heroine. 

Well, he had the distinct feeling that Natasha Romanoff would make short work of a Gothic villain with sinister designs upon her person.  

He himself had no desire to cast himself in the role of the _romantic_ Gothic hero - in fact, he laughed himself silly at the very idea and one Steven Grant Rogers was helping him do it. 

“An artist!” _Bunicule_ had enthused, upon being shown Steve’s sketchbook (despite Steve’s own shy protests). “Why, you have captured my boy to the very life!”

“A little bit like Heathcliff, don’t you think?” Natasha observed wryly. “All brooding and mysterious.”

“He’s not brooding,” Steve retorted, blue eyes dancing with mischief.  “He’s _pouting.”  
_

_“_ Oi!” Iacov protested.

_Bunicule_ patted Iacov’s hand affectionately.  “It is a very enchanting pout, as I’m sure young Steven is aware.”

Steve made a protesting sound that sounded very much like a squeak, which was as equally enchanting.

_This was a matter of business_ , Iacov reminded himself sternly.  He had expected, of course, that the English solicitors would be courteous and agreeable.  He and his grandfather were not monsters - Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers were meant to help them make their move to England and would be rewarded handsomely for their hard work.  And protected, of course, from all harm.

Iacov had _not_ expected to be charmed by dark blue eyes and a sunshine smile.

However, there were things about Steve Rogers that Iacov did _not_ know. 

There was the sleepwalking thing.  
  
It was a trait that used to drive Steve's poor _Babushka_ to distraction, as according to her, it left him vulnerable to the depredations of Terrible Things such as the _moroi_ and _strigoi_.   She put garlic flowers on his windows, made him wear holy amulets - a few of which were blessed by particularly saintly Popes (or so she claimed) and reminded his Mam to lock the doors and the windows.

All to no avail.  It was only fortunate or perhaps Steve did have a loving guardian angel working far and beyond the call of duty, that Steve would be found safe and sound by his worried mother and grandmother. 

Finally, on his fourth birthday, _Babushka_ had presented Steve with a soft, plush bear that she declared would be his guardian and keep him safe from all the ghoulies and ghosties that could go bump into his sleepwalking self.  
  
Little Steve happily named his bear Bucky.    
  
Amazingly, the Bear kept Steve safely in his bed and guaranteed good dreams from then on.  
  
Of course, these days Steve was far too old for his faithful and much-loved Bucky Bear (now left in storage and waiting for the day that Steve might pass him on to his own child).  He’d thought he’d left his sleepwalking days behind.

While staying in Castle Dracula, Steve would soon find that he was quite wrong.

(See? It definitely _wasn't_ Iacov's fault!)

***

The first time it happened, Cousin Natasha was the one who’d caught him.  He’d been standing outside his bedroom door with a dreamy expression, swaying a little bit on his feet.  Natasha had not realized it at first and it was only when she’d touched his shoulder that Steve’s eyes closed and he promptly collapsed. 

It was lucky that he was not much heavier than she was or the two of them would have fallen together. 

It was also fortunate that she had some unexpected help from Prince Iacov, who quickly lifted Steve into his arms.   

“Is he all right?” the Prince asked.

“Sleepwalking,” Natasha explained.  “He hasn’t done this in years, though.”

“Perhaps it’s because he finds himself in unfamiliar surroundings?” Prince Iacov offered.

“Maybe,” Natasha hedged.  Because, of course, they’d been sleeping in inns and hotels and on the train the entire journey and Steve had only started to sleepwalk _now._

“You must take care not to sleep anywhere else in this castle,” intoned the older Prince Dracula.  “This place is old and has many memories.  It is best if you take your rest in your own respective rooms.”  Strangely enough, he frowned at his grandson.  Said grandson responded in Romanian too fast for Natasha to understand. 

In his arms, Steve smiled in his sleep. 

Prince Iacov tried not to think too hard about how difficult it was to let him go and lay Steve back down on his own bed. 

Of course, Natasha teased Steve about the return of his sleepwalking habit the next day.  

***

The second time it happened, Prince Iacov found Steve curled up like the kitten he was on the chaise lounge in the library.  It would have been an endearing sight, had it not been for the fact that a totally unaware Steve was being cooed over by cousins Carmilla and Erzebet, newly arrived at the castle. 

_Bunic_ had not been pleased with his unexpected visitors - Carmilla and Erzebet were laws unto themselves.  Laura, beloved of Carmilla and the only one that Iacov actually liked, was the one who served as a calming influence upon the other two.  It helped that she once called Erzebet “spoilt and utterly vain” and proved herself the stronger, despite Erzebet’s greater age in undeath.  Unfortunately, Laura was not present - perhaps she had been keeping _Bunic_ company, as she was the only one of this trio that he had found tolerable. 

“Do not dare lay a hand on him - he is under my protection,” Iacov found himself snarling. 

Carmilla laughed and her teeth were especially long and white.  “Oh, sweet cousin - you are so selfish, wanting this one all to yourself.”

“That’s not what this is - “ Iacov truly did not want to explain anything, least of all to Carmilla.  “I shall take him back to his rooms.  Step aside.”

It was a matter of seconds to swoop in and take Steve into his arms.  And again, he did not wake, only snuggled close and slept even deeper. 

“Did you not summon him to you?  He is a choice little morsel after all,” Erzebet purred. 

“No,” Iacov said shortly and left immediately with his precious burden.

It was the same question his grandfather had asked him.  He was fairly sure that he wasn’t _calling_ out to Steve, even if his scent reminded him of sunshine and green apples and even if Steve made for the sweetest burden, with his sleepy contented noises that almost sounded like kitten purrs and the way his fingers curled into the silk of Iacov’s robes.   

No.  Even as he lay Steve down on his bed…. _again_ … and covered him up with his blankets, Iacov was fairly sure he wasn’t doing anything that ridiculous.

***

“I did what?”

“Yes, you did.  Apparently, Prince Iacov found you in the library this time.  Do you want me to write Babushka and send over your old Bucky Bear?”

_“Nat!”_

A blushing Steve had to explain his old childhood companion to their hosts, which prompted the elder Prince to gleefully divulge a little Iacov’s own toy, a tiny stuffed lion he had called _Solnishka._

_***  
_

Thankfully, it was Laura who had found a sleepwalking Steve the next time it happened. 

The deceptively sweet-faced woman, who would forever look like an eighteen year old girl, gently guided Steve to Iacov.  “He was calling for you, cousin.”

Iacov had not been able to blush in the last hundred years.  He was fairly sure he was making a good attempt of it now. 

All right.  So maybe, just maybe, he was indeed _dreaming_ of Steve.  He’d thought they were just dreams.  He certainly wasn’t expecting this!

It certainly did not help that his grandfather ended up _laughing_ at him. 

***

All right, he actually _didn't_ have any intentions of _feeding_ on Steve, despite the enticement that was his blood.  Falling in love was also not part of the plan.

But there was a saying about hell and good intentions and Prince Iacov was definitely heading in that general direction. 

He would like it stated that a man cannot be confronted with five foot odd inches of Adorable Dandelion-Floofy Haired Irish Punk and not fall ass over boots.  No self-respecting vampire could look at those earnest, big blue eyes without scheming on the best way to achieve Nibbling, Cuddling and Snuggling Privileges™ from one Steven Grant Rogers. 

He’d tried flowers.  A dance.  Little presents.  Walks and outings.  His grandfather was utterly useless at giving counsel as the older Prince simply went into hysterical giggling whenever the subject was brought up.  And:  “I was much the same about your bunică, ingeraşul meu." 

He’s not quite sure when the line crossed from sweet, simple flirting to actual courting, but he thinks it may have happened sometime during a conversation in which Steve Rogers had dubbed him as "Bucko.”

“That’s not my name,"  It was a feeble objection, Iacov knew it, but he’d been more than slightly dazzled by the smile Steve Rogers had when he spoke.

"It’s Irish for a fine, swaggering, preening, teasing sort of fella, like yourself and being as I’m Irish, I thought it appropriate,” Steve returned. 

“Bucko?”

Steve pretends to think about it.  “Perhaps I shall call you Bucky, then, Your Highness."

It was a sure sign of how much trouble Iacov was in when he felt inordinately pleased with the new name.

And of course, the _sleepwalking_ continued.

***

Iacov did not sleep in a coffin.

Coffins were good hiding places in a pinch or resting places for what his grandfather would call “the long sleep.”  But for a simple rest, Iacov greatly preferred his own comfortable bed with its blankets and its pillows, a luxury that he admittedly missed when he’d spent his own time in the outside world as a soldier. 

It was getting close to dawn and Iacov had sternly reminded himself to keep better control of his own dreams. 

A vampire normally could call out to a victim in said dreams and if they had any sort of honor in them, they would ensure that they would only take enough blood not to do any lasting harm and leave their prospective _donor_ only with a good night’s sleep. 

The problem was that Iacov’s dreams about Steve had _nothing_ to do with _feeding_ whatsoever.  And everything to do with words unspoken or actions not taken in their respective waking hours, held back by the proprieties. 

He had found himself drifting off when he finally registered the fact that _someone_ was getting into bed with him. 

First off, _no one_ should have been able to get into the room without Iacov immediately becoming aware of it, much less get close enough to his bed.

Except, it was Steve. 

Again. 

Iacov was soon surrounded by the scent of green apples and sunshine and the terrible temptation to bury his nose into soft dandelion fluff hair.  Among other things.  But he was a gentleman and despite the fact that it was nearly impossible to resist an armful of sleeping Steve, he really had to wake the poor man up. 

Steve’s mortified blush, that invited a person to check whether it spread all the way down his body, almost made Iacov regret that decision. 

“Oh my God.”

“No, just Iacov, since we’re in a rather…. _intimate_ situation.”

“Um.  I must be dreaming.  If I could just wake up, I will be back in my own bed and I will really ask my cousin to write _Babushka_ to send me my old Bucky Bear.  I swear.”

Iacov finally knew how much trouble he was in because he found himself growling at the thought of being _replaced_ by a _bear_.

“I should really get back to my own bed.” Steve was blushing so prettily. 

Also, he was making no movement to get out of the bed. 

He remembered _what_ those dreams were about too. 

Iacov cuddled Steve closer and blurted out, “ _Stay.”  
_

Their first real kiss in the waking world was sweeter than their dreams. 

* * *

 

**_An Epilogue (sometime into the future):_ **

 

The intrepid vampire hunters discreetly followed behind the sleepwalker, hoping to catch the evil one in the act. 

Clad only in his long nightshirt, the sleepwalker seemed to glide along the misty ground, apparently sure of his path.

It didn’t take long for the black-clad figure of the suspected vampire to appear.

“Stevie.  Sweetheart, you’re sleepwalking again.”

Those words, spoken so tenderly, woke Steve up immediately.  He wasn’t too overly concerned about seeing a vampire smiling at him.  Prince Iacov Dracula’s fangs flashed in a rather toothy grin that might have been terrifying to anyone else.

“I  was missing you,” Steve said, crossing his arms and the pout clearly heard in his voice.  And then he shivered.

At that, the Prince Iacov quickly took off his cloak and wrapped it around Steve.  He also took that opportunity to pick the smaller man up. 

“Oi!  Put me down, Bucko!”

“Nope,” said the Prince cheerfully, the Americanism perfectly pronounced.  He also dropped a quick kiss on Steve's forehead and stealing another one from his lips just for good measure.  “I’m taking you home and I’ll just bring you back tomorrow.”

“But – ”

“I was missing you too.”

And at that, Steve’s protests stopped and he just smiled and cuddled close instead.

Unseen, the group of vampire hunters looked at each other, all nonplussed.  Only Dr. van Erskine had something to say.

“Well, young Steven seems to have found himself a very nice young man.”

_-end -_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, those three vampire ladies are very familiar for a reason. Carmilla and her Laura are from Sheridan Le Fanu's classic vampire tale and of course, "Erzebet" is meant to be Elizabeth Bathory. 
> 
> Yes, Count Buckula tends to smash those old vampire stereotypes to smithereens.


End file.
